Those Left Behind
by PHDinSPN
Summary: Outsiders' perspective about Sam's lost year. He was good at pretending, but the cracks started to show. This will be a series of oneshots from different perspectives. Spoilers for all aired episodes. Ch.1: Amelia's father Ch.2 : the kid at the hotel Ch. 3 : Riot (yes the dog) Ch. 4: Amelia Ch. 5: bartender in both Kermit and California (serves as an epilogue).
1. Lies and Duct Tape

Spoilers: All currently aired episodes ( specifically Hunter Herioci)

Disclaimer: I don't own supernatural, trust me if I did it would be all brother feelings and gore.

Author's Note: This was an idea that has been nagging at me since the start of the season. I think Sam's year was an escape from reality, the reality of his brother's disappearance and himself. I wanted to capture how different characters perceived his charade. Starting with Amelia's father. I have a couple people already in mind. But if people have suggestions for other perspectives, Im game.

**Lies and Duct-tape: Amelia's Father **

He said he wasn't a veteran. That was the first lie he told me. He had served somewhere even if it wasn't in a uniform, you don't get those eyes from a life spent at peace; I should know I've seen them on my own face every day for the last thirty years. If I had any doubt his reaction to my insult of his father confirmed my suspicion that he was not a man of peace. I saw the twitch of his fist and the aborted movement towards his waist and the gun that should have been there; both were almost imperceptible, but I had seen them in other veterans to know what they meant. He was not far out of the trenches, I would bet my life on it. Against my will i was already betting my daughter on it if the glare my baiting produced from my daughter was any indication.

His second lie was not unrelated as it was a lie of omission; the omission of his life between Stanford and Amelia. I became initially suspicious during our dinner when I told an amusing anecdote for Amelia's childhood; his absorption seemed natural at first, the natural interest of a boyfriend, but the flash of envy and desolation that I glimpsed during it took me aback. His laugh at the end of the telling, while genuine to some extent, also rang of overcompensation as if he had sensed his slip. There was a moment of silence, in which most people would have offered their anecdote, while Sam just stayed silent unwilling to volunteer even that much of an insight into his life. Or maybe he no longer realized that it was expected of him; he played the role of observer much more fluidly than of participant. I mentally reviewed our previous interactions and realized that he was indeed very good at deflection and letting innocuous details out to allay suspicions. There was substance missing from his stories and a subtle hesitation before answering anything personal that convinced me that he indeed was an expert at such lies of omission and that these lies were a constant stream in his life with my daughter. Such expertise could not be gained easily; it hinted at a troubled past that might also why memories of a happy childhood could trigger such emotions of envy and desolation. Usually, I would respect a man's decision to keep his life private, Heavens knows I have my share of secrets, but this man had wormed his way into my daughter's life. His secrets affected Amelia and thus were my business.

I had a faint hope that his reticence was that of a cautious man with a virtual stranger, borne more out of a desire not to have to shatter Amelia's bubble than any true evidence from Sam. But my careful and not so careful prodding at Amelia failed to allay my fears. She knew as much as I did, he went to Stanford, but dropped out, he wandered the country with his brother doing some kind of family business before his brother died and then he ran, "just like me" she added as if that made them the same. As if by virtue of being broken they somehow matched. I could see even if my daughter refused to that his past haunted him and I knew his ghosts would get better of him against his best intentions; you only can live a lie for so long and this boy was already living on borrowed time.

When she had first told me of Sam, she had mentioned their mutual brokenness and I remember scoffing at her mentally for equating the loss of a husband to that of a brother; I had lost siblings before and knew the pain, but that paled in comparison to when I imagined losing my wife. Amelia once said that her world ended when she lost Don, but even she knew that for the hyperbole it was even if she had forgotten that for a time; in Sam I saw a hint of how such a loss might look. I love my daughter and I know Don's death was devastating, but what I glimpsed in Sam's eyes when he finally mentioned his brother was not simple grief or even my daughter's devastation, but something deeper that made both seem insignificant. It was as if he had literally lost the world leaving him a virtual ghost going through the motions of life. Any other time such a look and signs of pain would have engendered sympathy, but not when this broken shell was with my daughter.

When we got the call about Don, part of me was relieved, even as I saw that mask of contentment fall from Sam's eyes to reveal for a second the entirety of the desolation I had only previously glimpsed. It shamed me the pain I saw in those hazel depths, but not for long. My priority was my daughter and I knew that this stranger with his lies and hidden pain could only bring her further heartbreak.

As I left that night I knew Sam would leave because he was a good man if a broken one, not despite his lies and hidden pain, but because of even with them he gave my girl a comforting smile, while his temporary world fell apart. So that call meant, the burden was off me. I didn't have to tell my daughter that the man she had fallen in love with and helped her heal was still irreparably broken; all her love for him and his for her was mere duct tape and the cracks were starting to show.


	2. Masks

Spoilers: All episodes, especially Season 8

Disclaimer: Don't own.

A/N: This turned out differently than I thought. The Mother character was much more prominent than i planned. I might do one just on her. Anyway this is loosely based on the kid from the hotel Sam worked at. I just heavily revised both this chapter and the last.

**Types and Masks**

I remember when he checked in, I had seen his type a hundred times before with his secondhand clothes and lost eyes. He checked in for the night under a name that had to be a joke, but my job wasn't to check the credentials of one Kerry Livgren and the credit card went through, so I didn't really care beyond a smirk to let him know I wasn't dumb. I assumed he would be gone shortly, his kind never stayed anywhere any significant length of time; it's not that I had anything against him personally, I just knew the type and the type was a drifter.

Imagine my surprise when he stayed; not only stayed but got a dog. He was as settled as I had ever seen a drifter settle. I heard the story about how he hit the dog and chose to take care of it; of course I heard a less complimentary story from another guest who claimed he was guilted into it by another of our guest, the new vet in town. She was a strange one in that she did not fit the type if for no other reason that she had a good job and family, even if their visits were greater less frequent. My mother told me she had seen her type before too and that she was taking a vacation from reality to recuperate before finding her way home, while our usual long term residents like the drifter were more prone to be sentenced to a life spent looking for that home to return to. I took her word for it, my mom had a sixth sense for people; it was a bit unnerving. Her 'vacation' hadn't seemed to be helping her as while Amelia was never outwardly rude, but there was harshness behind her politeness that was better avoided, which I did quite well. That changed when she got together with Kerry, or Sam as he was actually called. It softened both of them, his bleakness and her standoffish ways, making them more human.

By the time they got together, Sam was a fixture here and our resident handyman, which meant I stopped having to pretend that it was perfectly normal that his credit cards were under different names, each one more ludicrous than the next. Credit card scams aside, Sam was a cool guy and wicked smart, too smart to be a handyman; I mean the guy got into Stanford, on a scholarship no less. On the other hand, he had a habit of muttering to himself in Latin, which was weird at first, especially when he seemed to mutter the same word every time we got a new guest, and I took initially as a sign of mental instability, which to be honest I've almost come to expect from our long term clientele. He must have seen one of my perturbed looks, as he explained it was a blessing for strangers that he had grown up with and never got out of the habit of doing. It was still odd, but it was harmless, especially when I learned that Latin was not the only language or subject he had more than passing familiarity with. He was a great cheat sheet on most of my homework, which I got into the habit of during at the front desk so I could pick his brain if need be. He was a willing study aide even if he was strident about me doing the problem themselves.

The only time it got weird was when I jokingly referred to him as my giant walking encyclopedia. He went stiff at my words, before giving a forced chuckle and excusing himself to check on one of the rooms, a room I knew was empty. I wanted to apologize for offending him even if I had no clue how I had done so, it wasn't the first time i had teased him and he was usually rather good natured about it. But when I saw him later in the day, his normal smile was in place and we just moved on as if nothing had happened, much to my confusion and relief. Besides that incident, i got along amazingly well with Sam, especially given the huge age gap, but he never treated me as a kid, never judging me and always seemingly genuinely interested in my opinions, a rare thing for an he didn't talk much about his life, every now and then he would let something slip about his brother, who according to him was part pain in the butt and part Batman; I was jealous of both Sam and the famous Dean, I would have killed to have either an older brother to idolize or a younger one to annoy and protect.

In his time as a handyman, Sam had wormed his way into both my life and my mom's, frequently sharing dinner with us when Amelia was working. My mom was surprisingly ok with us hanging out given his history or lack thereof, but she had labeled him a good one at their first meeting and my mom's first impressions have yet to be proven wrong; which is a good thing in our business given same of our clientele. They didn't talk much but when there were together they shared a similar sense of calm that made no demands, sharing the silence; it was always a little uncomfortable for me to some degree as the silence seemed edged with pain more often than not, the unspoken pain that had brought Sam here. Those silences decreased with time changing into more companionable ones.

He was good as his job, in fact the hotel never ran smoother than when he was on call; his dedication was unnatural or it seemed that way. Yet every so often when he had to fix something at the front desk, I saw desperation in him that seemed at odds with the problem at hand. The first time I saw that desperation I told him that it wasn't a big deal if he couldn't fix it, it could always be replaced. He looked at me with an expression of absolute bleakness and said almost under his breath "not everything can be replaced." I knew he wasn't talking about the radiator, but his face did not invite questions and I didn't want to risk alienating him. With a shake of his head his mask firmly in place, he smiled and said "I like a challenge", staying there past the end of my shift. When I returned to the front desk it was working again. Fixing things seemed to soothe him, and with every small triumph he stood a little straighter.

The longer he stayed the bleakness in his eyes faded and I saw him smile more and more, especially when he was with Amelia. Yet every now and then though his mask would slip to reveal a sense of loss seemingly unabated from when he checked in months ago and I would wonder if he was actually getting better or had just better at wearing his mask. I asked my mom that one night and she just sighed and said "He's hiding from himself as much as from the world. From what I have seen he has more than earned his mask." For a second her eyes grew distant as they used to right after my father died, but her smile was firmly back in place when I looked again.

I was happy for him when he finally checked out to move in with Amelia. My mom was right about her she snapped back to reality with gusto and grew noticeably more friendly; I actually missed her when she left. Sam on the other hand, still had the tenuous roots of a lifetime drifter as even his job as a handyman lacked true permanence. I was shocked when I caught him looking up colleges during his break, but happy. It meant that he wouldn't leave us so easily as college spoke of roots and a future, anathema to the drifter that checked in so many months ago.

I was flabbergasted by Sam's departure, but my mom took it in stride. She seemed happy for him. I guess she had doubts about that mask of his too.

A couple months later, Sam checked in again, apologizing for his sudden departure but carefully making no future commitments. He was back to looking and acting like a drifter and using those credit cards and paying for one night at a time, but there was something different in his eyes. When he checked out the next day, I figured it out, his eyes were neither the lost ones he had on his check in or the careful polite opaqueness he had mastered when he was here, instead they were alit with purpose and even a little bit of rage. My mom walked in as he was finishing and they shared one of those silent exchanges before she smiled and said "You finally found something worth fixing." He gave her a strange look before walking out, this time for good.

I had seen many sides of Sam during the last year, but only then did I feel I had seen even a hint of the real man.


	3. Pain and Packs

**A/N; This chapter is kind of weird. For some reason I felt compelled to let Riot have his say. Well I guess it fits with tonight's episode :-P. I know nothing about dog psychology beyond what my own neurotic dogs have taught me, which I chose to largely disregard. i wanted riot to be a mentally healthy dog after all. I have roughly two more chapters after this planned: One with Amelia and one by a minor character( debating bartender or vet tech)**

**Thank you to those who have reviewed and followed my story. i appreciate your faith in me to continue :-p**

**Disclaimer: i own nothing except the aforementioned neurotic dogs**

**Packs and Pain**

My first memory of him was of pain; not only the pain ripping through my side but the scent of pain emanating from the man as he crouched over me. I don't remember much else from our encounter but that dual pain and a strange sense of comfort as he lifted me in his arms, even if it was tinged with desperation. I had been alone for awhile, but being alone was never natural to me, so I gave into that comfort and surrendered consciousness to this strange man that had caused my pain and now seemed hell bent on relieving it. The smell of leather and the sound of old rock music were my last memories before walking up on a cold table.

There were people everywhere and while none triggered a flight response as I could sense their relative benign intentions, neither did they have the same sense of comfort that the man had. The pain lessened before I descended back into unconsciousness.

Dogs are pack animals and I am no exception, but I had lost my human pack months ago and had failed to find anyone that smelled even remotely like pack that were receptive to me. When they finished patched me up ( boy did that hurt) and gave me to Sam, I felt a stirring of hope. While he wasn't pack, he smelled more right than any other dogs or humans I have encountered, so I was happy to leave with him. It might have seemed strange since he was the cause of my pain, but I remember the whiff of regret and desperation at our first meeting and that was enough for me to forgive. I'm not one to hold grudges, especially against those that smell of that much guilt and suffering.

I found myself a new home; it was smaller than the one I left behind, but much better than anything I have had for months. It was a strange pack me and Sam, but it worked for me. When I first came I feared his despair would once again deprive me of the hope for a pack, but he continued on. There were many days and nights when he would just stare and pet me lost in dark thoughts or maybe memories. Even when he slept he wasn't at rest, tossing, turning and whimpering; He let me sleep on the bed, which comforted us both reaffirming that while we didn't have pack, we were not totally alone. I like to think I brought some comfort to him, he sorely needed it and his upset made me edgy. Yet I could sense that Sam was not so content with our makeshift pack, that he was still intensely grieving over the pack he had lost even if he no longer seemed on the precipice of despair. While I understood loss, I couldn't understand such longevity of grief; it just wasn't practical. Since he seemed content to drift in his grief, I took matters into my own hands. I remembered Amelia from the vet office and also the pheromones those two let off in between the snarling at each other. She was like us, pack-less and like Sam seemed stuck in neutral, which made her perfect. So yes I didn't accidentally run into her room, I had a plan; and guess what? It worked.

It even prompted Sam to name me, giving our pack some permanence as I had noticed that humans take stock in such things. Sam and Amelia together stabilized each other in their grief and gave them a reason to attempt to move on. When we moved to a house, complete with yard, I thought it meant we were finally a true pack rather than one of convenience. The flaw in the ointment was Sam. I could still sense Sam's grief under the surface, it was always most profound when he came back from driving in that black monster that I was only allowed in rarely. The few times I did ride beside him, he seemed guilty, muttering to himself about how he hoped Dean would never find out, a sentiment that was always followed by a stricken expression and withdrawn silence. Amelia had similar outbursts but hers lacked the intense guilt and desperation of Sam that made me so nervous. Yet, besides for those moments when his grief overwhelmed him, our pack seemed mostly happy. That was until the call.

I didn't know who Don was but I knew his return threatened my pack. Both Sam and Amelia seemed to exist in a daze of confusion barely paying attention to me besides the basics. While I never went hungry or thirsty I was starved from the affection that I had grown accustomed to. The tension was almost unbearable and I knew something was bound to break.

When it did break, I was left behind in another fractured pack with Amelia as Sam drove off in the middle of the night without us.

Sam was lost even in our pack even if he was good at pretending he was home; I could smell the lies and pain that he tried to hide from Amelia, but I had hoped he would recover as Amelia and I had. When he left I knew he would not return; we were never his pack. Then Don came and our pack began to heal, unlike Sam, Don was fully committed to the pack; Sam's hesitancy and lack of deep commitment to the pack was obvious by contrast. A part of me missed him, as he was once the foundation of my new pack, but it is not my nature to dwell; So I could say confidently I was happy with my new pack that was until I smelled Sam again.

It was a faint smell that I noticed when I was let out in the morning. It smelled of fear, desperation and betrayal, a combination I had never sensed from Sam, not even when Don returned. He hadn't lingered so neither did I and put his re-emergence from my mind. That was until I smelt it again the next day on Amelia.

Now the smell was threatening as it was augmented by regret and confusion from Amelia. Sam had been a good temporary pack mate, but now he threatened my pack and thus I could not welcome his return. When Sam never materialized after several days, I was relieved even if it made Amelia sad for a time; the finality in her grief was the sign I needed that the threat was over.

That night I howled my good bye to Sam that night knowing he probably wouldn't hear me with a hope that he too would find his pack as Amelia and I had found our pack.

**A/N This is a little different than I expected...hope you all enjoyed**


	4. Life Raft

**A/N: This is Amelia's POV from the present looking back**

**Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites**

**Disclaimer: I only own my own headcanon**

**Life Raft**

He was well and truly gone. It hit me with the force of an incoming train as I stood in that empty motel room. Yet a part of me, the part not curling in a ball of self-pity, was not surprised at all.

Sam had been leaving me from our first meeting.

I remember when I first saw him in my waiting room demanding that we save this strange dog with the desperation of a dying man. I was surprised when I learned it was a stray and to be honest my first instinct was that he was lying and trying to pawn his dog over to us. It had been a long day and I was stressed, So I probably was more snippy than I needed to be, but I was tired of excuses; I never could truly regret my actions too much because in the end he took the dog and without that I probably would not have Riot here with me now.

When he walked away then, I never thought I would see him again

Our second meeting was because of Riot as well. He ran in my room with a frantic and embarrassed Sam trailing behind him. That discussion was just as barbed as our previous one. There was something about him that raised my hackles. Looking back I was fighting my attraction even then; I'm still not sure if I was attracted to him or to his brokenness that called to my own. Someone whole can never understand how being broken makes you want to fill the pieces of your soul with the broken bits of another. It was a small hotel with only a couple long term residents, so avoiding Sam, especially when he became the resident handyman, would have been a feat, one to be honest I didn't even attempt. I have always had a pragmatic view of fate, but that doesn't mean I went out of my way to undermine it.

We ended up in bed eventually and this time I left him for the first and last time, but he found me. He broke through my walls so easily with his sincerity and complete empathy with both my loss and my method of not dealing with it; He was a runner too. Opening myself to him was therapeutic as he truly understood my grief and didn't offer platitudes but a comforting shoulder and an open ear. Looking back, he spoke of wanting to share his loss as I needed to share mine, but he never truly did.

Even now my knowledge of Dean did not extend beyond the basics: he was Sam's brother and his only family. I knew the Impala had been his and as was the ugly little necklace Sam kept with him. Even that knowledge was gleamed from offhand comments Sam let slip every now and then. I found myself hoarding any insights as Dragon must hoard its gold, convincing myself it was enough while always longing for just a little more.

Even when we were together Sam was in a continuous state of leaving.

He left me every time he took a ride in that black car; a car I rarely rode in. In fact, the few times I did, Sam was so tense and nervous that I stopped even asking. He came back a different man each time both more broken and more whole. Any time I tried to question him or comfort him; he would smile so convincingly and do something sweet to distract me. He was never obvious in his evasion, but he was consistent; his drives became something normal and I stopped asking questions that I knew he would never answer. That ugly necklace elicited the same distance; I stopped counting the times I saw him staring at it as if it contained the answer to all his questions with desperation, sorrow and on occasion, a bitterness that startled me in its intensity. He always put it away out of sight when he noticed my presence; as time wore on I caught him less, but I have no doubt he still lost himself with that necklace, I recognized the aftermath. It seems his losses stayed his in a way mine never were.

Part of the reason we rushed into home ownership on my part was to tie him to me; I always had a subconscious fear of his leaving on looking back. He adjusted well to a home and a family, but that didn't stop him from leaving. The more settled we got, the more subtle was his leave-taking. He left us in his own mind, he would be too quiet and too still for too long, but would always laugh it off when called on it. I almost could believe that he just spacey; I had known people like that that would zone out lost in their thoughts no matter how inconsequential. But then there were his nightmares that spoke of hidden depths and pain.

I noticed them early on when we began sharing a bed more often than not. Many nights, Sam would writhe and whimper in his sleep as if in the throes of unimaginable torture. He woke up with Dean's name on his lips more often than not in the beginning of our relationship; it was not the call for an absent lover that would have almost made more sense but rather the desperate cry of a hurt child to a parent begging them to take away the pain as only a parent can. When his eyes filled with recognition, he always apologized for waking me, but never offered an explanation for the demons that taunted him. Other nights were harder, in those Sam wouldn't wake me up with his cries, but when I awoke in the morning, I would find tear stains on his face and on occasion his body would be wracked with silent sobs to accompany his tears. Those nights spoke of a pain and grief that followed one into unconsciousness. I had cried myself to sleep many nights, but Sam cried in his sleep and somehow that difference was profound to me. It seemed only in his sleep could he truly grieve.

Regardless of the doubts that plagued me at night and the demons that still held Sam, we were happy, well as happy as two broken people could be. He anchored me and I like to think I helped to anchor him as well. I remember his amazement when I surprised him with a picnic for his birthday complete with cake. His panic when he couldn't find me was cute at the time but with hindsight I realized how desperate and unusual it was, especially for someone that was normally as even-keeled as Sam. His absolute delight and shock pushed any curiosity out of mind. In hindsight I could see how tenuous my life was Sam but at the time and in the day to day it was happy and comfortable in a way I hadn't been for a long time. Sam was dependable and constant and quickly became my lodestone in my manufactured world. Then I got the call and my world imploded.

I knew Sam would leave, but I fought against it. Both of us spent the next few days in a haze trying to figure out what this meant for us. I thought there was light at the end of the tunnel when Sam told me he wanted to be selfish and stay. I wanted him to stay; I loved and still love Don, but I had built a new life with Sam that I didn't want to let go. I knew it would be difficult, but I thought Sam finally was willing to put down those roots and that was worth the sacrifice.

Then he left without a word in the middle of the night taking the car and the necklace but little else.

Don came back and life continued on. He was still the man I had been in love with most of my life, but I was different. I had been broken, while Don was still very much whole. We were two pieces that didn't quite match anymore; but I knew with some work we could be filed into fitting again. With Sam was gone, I put my mind into making my marriage work; I had no alternative. Don's frequent absences gave me too much time with my thoughts; time I spent dwelling on Sam. It is then I tried to piece together the puzzle of our relationship and realized I was missing so many pieces the absence of which had seemed innocuous at the time. I had built a life with a stranger in a sense, but even that realization was not enough to stop me longing for his return.

Then he came back as strangely as he had first entered, staring through my window while Don and I were watching TV, on one of Don's few nights off. He was there for only seconds but it was enough time for me to see the flicker of confusion and betrayal on his face. At the time I took a strange pleasure in that betrayal as I assumed it was aimed at me moving on with Don; I was always a believer of there being a thin line between love and hate. It's what gave me the courage to search Sam out that night. I found him at the bar, which I took as a positive sign. He only went to the bar in times of emotional turmoil while we were together and him being there now gave me the hope he regretted leaving. When I confronted him and asked to meet up later my initial hope was muted. His eyes still held betrayal and anger, possibly stronger than before, but it didn't seem directed at me.

After Don left for work I sought Sam out at the hotel, which was the same hotel we had met out. He opened the door prepared to yell before recognition hit. I never got around to asking who he was expecting, part of me was afraid to, because with recognition both the anger and betrayal that I had hoped were for me fled his eyes to be replaced with simple confusion. Even with fear filling my gut I took the leap both into bed with Sam and with my heart.

As I bared my heart and delivered my final ultimatum, I felt sicker, even as Sam told me he still cared. I had called him on his lies and he didn't even flinch; the faint hope of an explanation died with his impassive face. I told him I was willing to leave Don and all I saw was guilt. Even at the end with all my cards on the table, Sam's eyes flickered with sadness and confusion, but never truly hope. I knew then I would find an empty room, but I held out hope.

When he had disappeared for I thought the last time, I had mourned him then, but this time was far more final; this wasn't Sam just doing the right thing, this was Sam making a choice. This hurt more. Yet that little voice in my voice chided me for my disappointment reminding me Sam never truly chose me; we fell together out of shared sorrow and convenience. I had made it more and overlooked all the hints that Sam was never bound to me by anything more than the thinnest threads.

I might have saved him as he once claimed, but I had a feeling I was the life raft rather than dry land, only a temporary reprieve of a drowning man. So when he found land, he left me not without regret, but without hesitation as had been doing from the beginning.

It was past time I followed Sam's example, and left the security of the life raft for the promise of actual land.

**A/N: So a little depressing and a lot angsty, but what did you expect? : D One more chapter which will serve as an epilogue (It just might have brotherly interaction : D)  
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	5. Epilogue

**A/N: This is it the final chapter. It it set in the undetermined future  
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**Thanks for sticking with me**** especially with the delay  
**

**Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with supernatural.**

**Ties that Bind**

Kermit was a small town. That's why I chose to come back here after a stint in Dallas, I was sick of the impersonal smoggy big city life filled with traffic and cheating exes. Don't even get me started on the humidity.

I had only been in Kermit for a few weeks when I got a job bartending at a local waterhole. My brother laughingly told me I was putting my BA in philosophy to good use. Alcohol and philosophy go well together or at least I had always found them complementary, so I couldn't really argue. While I was not raking in the money that my parents and teachers promised came from a college education I did all right for myself.

The thing about a small town is that everyone knows everyone or at least likes to pretend they do. I had spent my pigtail years here so I was considered largely old hat by my second week, but the drifter was another story. He was a looker, tall with soft hazel eyes, but I never looked more than twice ( once out of appreciation of the beautiful specimen before me and the second time out of regret for what will never be) because I knew from local gossip he wasn't available. I might not listen to everything my momma tells me but I did take to heart what she said that about encroaching on someone's private property gets you shot and he firmly belonged to the other stranger in town.

I didn't know much about her besides that she was the new vet and lived at the rent by the week hotel ran by that widow and her son. Those two had set many tongues a wagging in their time, especially the woman and her deceased husband, but with his death even the most diehard gossips zipped their lips and left the broken family alone.

Sam and Amelia were not regulars by any stretch but both would come in every now and then for a beer, enough that I put a name to the faces and stories. Their initial notoriety dissipated when they settled into a nice house close to town and took up all the trappings of domesticity. It helped that Sam was so nice and pleasant, while Amelia was polite and competent. None of us knew that it was the lull before the storm.

When Amelia's husband showed up rumors spread like wild fire; some claimed she had left him after a nervous breakdown, while others claimed he was a conman. During the upheaval of Don's arrival Sam came in here more often and I saw the emergence of the lifelong habits of a functional alcoholic. It surprised me see calm mellow Sam throwing beers and shots back, but it seemed understandable given the circumstances; It was their lack of effect that was more worrisome. You don't gain that high a tolerance from a long ago misspent youth. But he was never mean and thus never really more than a passing curiosity for me. I also met Don on his arrival, well as much as a bartender meets a customer. In my professional opinion from a life spent watching people he was no drunk and honestly seemed committed to Amelia; I never saw his gaze wander nor heard him badmouth her, which was impressive given the situation.

It was during one of Sam's trips to the bar that I witnessed his interaction with Don. I won't lie when I saw Don make a beeline for Sam I tried to catch, my fellow employee, Steve's eye so he would be prepared to intervene. There were both big men so I knew that I would be more than useless in any altercation between them. Much to my surprise Don was conciliatory rather than aggressive; it was obvious he didn't blame Sam, but also that he wasn't letting Amelia go. It was right then that I envied Amelia the most for having two good men that loved her.

When Sam left I wasn't surprised, the cracks in Sam became increasingly evident every time I saw him; he was a broken man once more if Steve was to be believed. Steve told me once he had that look before Amelia; In fact Steve was tempted to slip him the number for a suicide hotline more than once but always backed off; "it was something in his eyes like his pain was not only none of my business but also beyond my ability or really anyone's to comprehend." I thought he had to be exaggerating because the broken man I saw in Sam before he left was the same as any heartbroken fool drinking away his sorrow.

I never thought would see him once he left town, so imagine my surprise when not even half a year later, he come stumbling in.

That mask that had been cracking when I saw him last was almost gone revealing betrayal of the most fundamental kind that had me again looking for Steve. My worry was for naught as Sam seemed content to brood rather than lash out that was until he got a phone call. I wasn't close enough to overhear but the emotion on his face captured my attention as it shifted from confusion to rage and to pure betrayal. I mentally pegged it as jealous lover spat so intense was the emotion. That itself was shocking as I never thought of Sam as someone who could rebound that quickly to exhibit that level of emotion. I instinctively knew it wasn't Amelia, don't ask me how, but her entrance in the bar a few moments after the call confirmed my theory. His mask visibly fell into place as he faced her dampening his betrayal rather than heightening it.

Another customer captured my attention and when I looked back it was just in time to see what I presumed was Amelia's back and Sam's shocked expression. I only guessed at the nature of the confrontation, but the lack of yelling was telling. I kept my eyes out and my ears to the ground for any new gossip. I know it sounds petty, but gossip was the only form of entertainment in this town and a love triangle with both a missing husband and a handsome drifter was as good as it got. To my disappointment there was nothing substantial, in fact I saw Amelia and Don in my bar the next week, maybe a little strained but firmly together with no Sam in sight.

I honestly thought that was the end of it and it probably would have been if my wanderlust didn't get the bets of me once again dumping me in California working at another bar.

* * *

I was serving drinks when a man walked in. I noticed him almost immediately; he was tall but his bow legs made him look shorter, but more importantly he was handsome in an almost beautiful way. He had an aura of confidence and experience that made people take notice, while taking the attention as largely his due. He made a beeline for counter, but I noticed he looked back once; it wasn't a look of a man running away from something but rather the expectation that someone should be there following. He rolled his eyes and smirked as he sat down. He gave me the flirty smirk of a professional womanizer, which I automatically returned with the polite smile of someone who worked for tips. I might have been interested before I saw that smile; I had fallen prey to it enough to know to stay away. When I came back with his beer he was on his phone

"Where are you?"

"Well hurry up my beer is getting warm" I smiled at that as he had yet to technically receive the aforementioned beer. I should have left but there was something about his tone captured my attention.

"Yea, yea. If you scratch my baby…Ill kill you" he casually threatened but I could sense the underlying affection as he hung up with a smirk. I handed him his beer smiling at his "sweetheart' and moved onto my other customers as it was a busy tonight.

About half an hour later, handsome was still nursing his beer, but now he wasn't even pretending not to be watching the door. Suddenly tension I didn't even realize he had been holding disappeared and his smirk lost its artificiality. Imagine my surprise when I followed his gaze to their door and saw, who else, but Sam.

I actually did a double take because the Sam that walked though the door was not the same one who walked out of the bar in Texas. He walked with a confidence and purpose I never realized he lacked before, but also an edge; This Sam was not the docile good-natured handyman with alcoholic tendencies, but something dangerous. Then he made eye contact with handsome and he softened in some indefinable way. The closest comparison I could ever draw was to how my brother transformed from soldier to little boy every time he walked through my parent's front door as if the world couldn't touch him there. Sam sat down right next to handsome. I found myself drifting into earshot overcome with curiosity.

"Took you long enough Sammy"

"Well, you could have always helped me, Dean." The snipe and banter was so unlike the Sam I knew, but so comfortable. More importantly it gave me a name for handsome, Dean.

"Didn't want to interrupt your private time. I know how hot dusty records makes you" His lifted eyebrow made the innuendo more than evident. An eye roll and snort was Sam's only response. But I noticed a slight shift in both men postures that eliminated the distance between so their shoulders were touching almost imperceptibly as they looked out at the bar.

I thought about introducing myself, but I didn't want to miss the opportunity to see Sam in what I seemed was his true native habitat. They didn't talk much after that initial exchange or at least not with words every so often they would exchange looks and occasionally gestures that almost without fail led to a shared smile or smirk. They didn't interact with anyone else besides my fellow bartender and even that was only to order more beer; since Mike was a rather burly guy Dean didn't waste his time flirting.

For some reason I couldn't quite articulate I stayed in the background the rest of the night careful not to neglect my side of the bar but also careful not to attract the attention of the two men. It was fascinating watching them react to their surroundings; they both tensed when a drunk started to get belligerent and shared an amused smile when he was tossed out. Then Hank came in; now Hank was unfortunately a regular. Unfortunate because he was not only a belligerent drunk but a belligerent drunk that weighed two hundred pounds and tended to speak with his fists. Like a predator scenting new prey he zeroed in on the two men almost from the start. He began with loudly whispered comments about strangers going places they weren't wanted, which were largely ignored. As the night progressed and his inhibitions lowered they increased in volume and obscenity. Sam and Dean seemed more amused than scared of Hank even when he started to get more pointed and bellicose in his comments. Then he actually pushed Sam expecting him to fall off the stool.

Not only did Sam not fall, but he casually stood up; like I said before I knew Sam was tall, but only then did I realize how intimidating he could truly be. He looked down on Hank with a condescending smile and softly said something. I couldn't hear it but from the way Hank's face got red and his fists clenched I knew it was far from conciliatory. I was getting worried for Sam because the man I knew in Kermit was no match for Hank, so I looked at his companion; but Dean was just as calm, sitting on his stool sipping his beer. There might have been a return of some of the tension from before but I couldn't be certain so good was his mask of indifference.

Hank yelled out an insult and began his punch. Everything slowed down in my panic; there was Mike trying to make his way between the two men behind me, Dean was getting up (Finally! I couldn't help but think) and Sam was still smiling. Then I blinked and next thing I knew Hank was on the floor, Sam knuckles were bleeding and Dean was on his feet with a hand under his jacket giving pointed looks to Hank's cronies. The bar was silent for a few seconds waiting for the next shoe to fall; it never did. Hank's cronies looked at their prone friend and the two men standing over him so casually and still so in sync with nary a glance spared for each other. The casualness of both men in the midst of the violent tension was not forced and that spoke of a life filled with similar inconveniences. A casualness that in no way meshed with the Sam i knew from Kermit. The men turned their backs to their fallen friend and everything went back to normal.

Only then did Dean look at Sam giving him a once over before focusing on his knuckles. He then leaned in to whisper something at Sam gesturing at his knuckles before turning back to the bar with a polite smile. He paid his tab and then without a word both he and Sam left as in sync as ever. Neither Sam nor Dean spared a glance for Sam's fallen foe yet I had no doubt they were as ready for trouble as ever. This time Dean didn't look back, he had no need; Sam was next to him.

I thought about those two men that night after my shift finally ended. How they moved towards the other and acted with an synchronicity that was almost eerie. I had thought I had seen love worthy of envy when I saw Sam with Amelia, but then again I thought I had seen the real Sam. It seemed that both were an illusion. I thought back to that phone call I witnessed the last time I saw Sam in Kermit and the depth of emotion I saw then. I had thought he had rebounded quickly but after tonight, I thought maybe I had it all wrong and that Amelia was in fact the rebound and Dean the constant. I still don't know exactly what binds Sam to Dean and vice versa (if I had to guess I would say brotherhood rather than romance as they reminded me of my brother with his army buddies only magnified beyond all comprehension) but I knew that it bound them tighter than I had ever seen two human beings; it was in the lack of artifice in their smile when it was directed at the other and the falseness and the hidden tension they presented to the world even those they cared about like Sam had done with Amelia.

I never knew Sam, but I doubt anyone but Dean ever did or even ever could.

**Thats All Folks! Hope everyone enjoyed. I'll admit this chapter was my excuse to get Dean into the picture and provide a happy ending.  
**


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